


23. Just Shaved Legs

by GettingOverGreta



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettingOverGreta/pseuds/GettingOverGreta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A submission for the "50 Reasons to Have (Sherlolly) Sex" on Tumblr.</p>
<p>In addition to raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, men who've shaved their legs are one of Molly Hooper's favorite things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	23. Just Shaved Legs

Molly Hooper freely admitted that many years ago, she had absolutely won the lottery in the world of uni boyfriends. Philip had been a competitive swimmer, and she met him after wondering what sort of boy could lap her three times in the pool at 7 AM. He thought it was adorable when she giggled, and he was literally the only man she’d ever actually wanted to see wearing a Speedo.

She didn’t mind his strange hours, or the times he would communicate largely by text and email because of his mad training schedule. Particularly since she reaped the benefits of that mad training schedule, which left him with a cheerful desire to hole up in her room after a meet and expend any remaining energy.

In addition to the abs and the spectacular cardiovascular endurance (and the faint smell of chlorine, which she still found oddly alluring), there was one highlight that Molly had never exactly informed him was a highlight. Her boyfriend shaved his entire body for maximum hydrodynamics, and Molly had loved the sensation of his smooth skin sliding against her own.

All of this was unfortunately coming to mind as she stood in 221B Baker Street, where she had stopped to drop off hard copies of some experiment results to Sherlock before heading home to her own cozy flat (results, which, as it turned out, he no longer needed, but he hadn’t bothered to tell her that). She couldn’t stop herself from staring at Sherlock Holmes, who was parading around his flat in his dressing gown and possibly very little else either in defiance of the winter weather or in deference to the roaring fireplace, quite clearly shaven legs showing below the hem. He flopped into the sofa and stretched out his legs, absolutely flaunting the smooth skin over his taut calf muscles.

Molly finally noticed that Sherlock had caught on to her staring when he cleared his throat. “Oh. Yes, the case was centered on a drag club, thought I was going to have to go undercover.”

Molly blinked, trying to decide if she liked that image or was experiencing mild horror. Drag? With that jawline? But oh, those legs. They were pale but well-shaped and she could just imagine how they would feel in her grasp.

"However, I was able to resolve the situation without taking that particular step. Unfortunately not prior to some preparation…Molly, are you unwell?"

"What? Unwell? No, I’m – I’m fine." She was fine. Really. Just struggling not to think about long, muscular legs pressing against her thighs.

"Your face is flushed, pupils dilated, your arms are covered in goosebumps, and the temperature in this room is warmer than usual but perfectly acceptable – ah." Sherlock tilted his head. "Come now, Molly, you usually conceal sexual interest better than that. You’ve touched your neck five times in the last two minutes."

Molly’s gaze dropped to the floor as her interest shifted into a hot prickle of arousal, combined with a flood of embarrassment that she found unique to fancying Sherlock. Of course he knew, the git. Sherlock’s long feet appeared in Molly’s view, and she finally looked up on realizing how close by he stood. She tried to observe the rise and fall of his chest objectively, trying to understand why it seemed strange. She finally lifted her eyes to his and found that she didn’t recognize his expression, even if something about it was faintly familiar…

"You like it," Molly said, her voice annoyingly far more breathy than she’d anticipated.

"The sensation is…unique," Sherlock said, "I am obviously familiar with shaving my face and neck, but clothing – even the air feels different against my skin." He was uncomfortable, Molly could tell. He didn’t _like_ liking it, which suggested that he found it to be a distraction from mind work.

"That’s just the beginning," Molly impulsively replied, to which Sherlock only raised an eyebrow. He eyed her for a moment, and Molly waited for the onslaught of deductions. Nothing came out of his mouth, however, and instead he lifted his warm, dry hand to the side of her neck, thumb pressed lightly against her pulse, which Molly thought had to be racing by now. Her fingers nearly twitched with tension, because despite her desire to return the gesture she remembered how badly showing interest in Sherlock could go.

"Just the beginning," he murmured, then stepped away, letting himself fall back into his chair. He slouched into it, his legs stretched out before him. "Fine then, Molly. Demonstrate."

"Demonstrate?" Molly said, suddenly feeling more self-conscious than anything.

"A simple request, I should think," Sherlock said, his eyes flicking over her once more, "I’d like to know what’s so _fascinating_.” His voice suggested that he was teasing, and didn’t expect her to do anything but blush and stammer. But oh, she’d had about enough of that with him. Molly swallowed, took one of those cleansing breaths her yoga teacher was always talking about, and attempted to sink to her knees on the floor as gracefully as possible.

As it turns out, that wasn’t all that graceful, and her knees hit the carpet with a soft thud. She couldn’t help but think that Sherlock looked at her like she belonged there, small and unassuming at his feet. Molly’s jaw clenched slightly, wanting to wipe that little smirk right off his face – and she knew she could.

She started at his ankles, just lightly stroking her fingers over each tendon, quietly naming them to herself. She ran her hands up the warm skin of his calves, smiling faintly to herself as the muscles tightened beneath her palms. Goosebumps spread over Sherlock’s skin as she pressed her lips to the inside of one knee, then rubbed her cheek against the other. She glanced up, noting his parted lips and decidedly less disinterested expression, as well as the way his hands now clutched at the arms of the chair. Molly smiled and pulled her hair free of its ponytail, letting the ends glide over his exposed thigh. She kissed each of his knees, noting the rougher texture of the skin there, before settling down and pulling off her jumper, then her mint green bra. Grabbing hold of his legs, she surged forward to drag her nipples along his skin.

Sherlock’s breath was considerably shorter, she noticed, as she parted his dressing gown and nuzzled his inner thigh. She caressed him, noting the tightening of each quadriceps muscle, and glanced at the very promising bulge in his designer (of course) boxer briefs.

"Do you want to take these off?" Molly asked as if it was this was something she did every day, persuade gorgeous men out of their clothes. Sherlock nodded faintly, and hooked his thumbs in the elastic and sliding them over his hips. She could see exactly where his shaving job ended, a line of light hair appearing near the tops of his thighs. He groaned softly as his hardening cock sprang free, and Molly thought it suited the rest of him, nicely proportioned, something almost elegant in its slight curvature. Her mouth watered at the idea of sliding him between her lips, reducing him to a slackened, sweaty mess.

"Is there more?" Sherlock asked, his curiosity pulling her back from her mind’s meandering with a shiver, and she wondered if he was having the same thought. Molly nodded and peeled away her skirt and knickers. Sherlock stroked his hand over the curve of her hip as she stood in front of him again, and Molly felt a knot of tension unfurl and tangle again in her belly. She stepped forward to straddle his thigh, noting now how much she was trembling herself, how much she wanted to just wrap herself around him, feel the heat and every texture of his skin against her and inside her. She leaned in and kissed him softly, unable to stop herself from gasping as he returned her kiss with eagerness.

Sherlock had to feel how wet she was as she squirmed against his thigh, felt the muscle flex beneath his skin as his lightly calloused fingers pressed into her flesh. Sherlock pulled her towards him, sliding his hands beneath her bum to lift her, his tongue darting out as if to get a taste of her nipple before he made her dizzy by sucking it into her mouth. Molly breathed in the scent of his hair, shampoo and sweat mingling together, and the scent of the fireplace and the warmed leather of the chair beyond it. She felt his cock, hot and velvet-soft, brushing against her stomach every time she rocked her hips. Sherlock grunted and thrust against her, his fingers reaching questioningly up her thigh until he could probe for her clit.

"Fuck," Molly moaned, making Sherlock’s eyes fly open to look at her. Then they narrowed slightly, and she suddenly worried that he was about to throw her out of his flat.

"I think," Sherlock declared, sounding like he needed to catch his breath, "That this chair is not the best place – for what you want, Molly." He eased her up and shed his dressing gown to the floor, tugging her down to lay down on it. With a brush of his hand, she spread her thighs open, watching as he crawled between them.

"Besides, I probably shouldn’t make you do all the work," he said with a smirk, "I trust you’re still using a birth control pill?" Molly knew her grin was goofy as she nodded and she found that she really didn’t have any fucks to give at the moment. He leaned over to kiss her again, dragging his cock between her thighs before grabbing hold of it to slip inside her. Molly inhaled sharply at the stretch, if she hadn’t been quite so ready it would have been too much too fast, but she felt greedy now, wanting everything he could give her. She twined her thighs around him, hooking her ankles against his knees as best she could to enjoy the slide of his smooth legs against her own with each thrust. Molly kissed his neck, tasting the salt of sweat along the column of his throat, and dragged her fingernails lightly over his back until she could feel his gluteal muscles tense and release with every drive into her cunt. Molly found herself starting to beg him for more, please, and harder, until her voice was nothing but a soft whimper as the dull ache of pleasure spread through every cell in her body. She arched her back and groaned as she finally came, her hips jerking against him. Sherlock, however, didn’t seem quite finished. He groaned with frustration and pulled out of her abruptly, breathing hard. He looked…confused, to be perfectly honest, and Molly didn’t think either of them currently had the brain capacity to figure anything out.

"I can’t – there’s not enough range of motion," he complained, and Molly smiled, untangling their legs, sitting up on her elbows a little. "I think – would you mind?" He gestured for her to turn over, and Molly felt a little frisson as she recalled the first time she had tried that very position. Instead of placing her on her hands and knees, however, Sherlock grabbed a cushion and placed it beneath her belly, almost folding his body over hers as he entered her again with a delicious moan. His thighs brushed against hers with each deeper stroke, and Molly shuddered at the feeling of his cock hitting just the right spot over and over as his breath fell hot on her neck. She writhed against the cushion, suddenly chasing her pleasure all over again.

"I think you like this even more," Sherlock whispered hotly against her ear. "Did you think it was dirty, Molly, the first time you did this?"

"Yes, yes, I thought – it wasn’t nice," she gasped, "But it’s good, it’s so good, God, Sherlock – " Molly felt her thighs trembling with tension, she was so close again, but Sherlock actually slowed his thrusts, letting her feel every inch of him move in and out of her.

"Sweet, gentle Molly wants to be fucked like an animal." Sherlock nipped at her shoulder. "Really, I should have known."

"You of all people," Molly said, surprised to find herself laughing, "So get on with it." That was all the urging Sherlock needed, and his next thrust had her scrabbling for purchase on the carpet. She reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair to ground herself, listening to his harsh breath against her ear as his hips snapped against her bum. Molly let out a keening wail into the carpet as she reached her peak again, shivering when Sherlock finished with a deep, satisfied groan shortly afterwards. He seemed to collapse on top of her, his weight pressing her down as his cock slowly softened inside her.

As her brain slowly came back online, Molly noticed a few things. First, that what was a very exciting sensation a few moments ago was now essentially having Sherlock’s wiry but considerable weight resting on her bladder. Second, having sex in front of an operating fireplace sounded romantic but it seemed to be an unusually sweaty experience. Third, she almost certainly had carpet burn in odd places now, because the dressing gown on the floor had migrated somewhat to the left. She nudged Sherlock a bit to get him to roll off of her, and very gingerly moved to put the cushion aside, which she realized was almost certainly from John’s chair.

"Don’t worry. It’ll ‘disappear’ in an experiment," Sherlock said, and Molly found herself smiling that in this flat, that was actually a viable excuse. He let her get up to use the bathroom, and Molly came back to find him still sitting on the floor, leaning back against his own chair, apparently unconcerned about his lack of clothing. He held out a hand to Molly and tugged her down to sit in front of him, wrapping his arms around her waist and settling his legs around hers.

"So did I outperform your uni boyfriend?" Sherlock asked playfully, and Molly turned around with a little gasp of surprise.

"How did you – do I even want to know how you knew about that?"

"You had an unusually strong interest in men’s swimming during the last Olympics, which might have been a coincidence since it was in London, or merely the effect of hormones. However, you appeared to have amassed a rather large amount of technical knowledge on the sport, although you’ve never competed yourself. Uni is the most likely place for you to have encountered someone with such an interest – the widest selection of males ever available to you." Sherlock let his ears brush against the shell of her ear. "And then I saw the way you looked at my legs. You’ve seen them before with less dramatic effect, but all that smooth skin and you _remembered_ , Molly.”

Molly smiled warmly and turned to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “I did. He wasn’t my first, but he was my favorite.”

"Until now?" Sherlock asked, sounding rather hopeful. Molly felt a distinctly devilish idea coming on, because Sherlock did love a competition.

"Oh, I don’t know," she teased, drawing little circles on his knee with one finger. "I mean, we’ve only done this once. He had months to prove himself."

"Is that a challenge, Miss Hooper?" Sherlock asked, the slightest hint of a growl in his voice making her insides squirm excitedly.

"Absolutely," Molly replied, and shrieked as Sherlock attempted to tackle her onto the carpet again.

Hours later, she blearily woke up, eventually determining that she was on Sherlock’s sofa, wrapped up in Sherlock’s throw, with Sherlock clasping her back against his chest. She fought waking up because she was terribly comfortable, if a bit sore and a bit sticky. However, she also noticed a distinct draft in the room, and slowly realized that someone had opened a window despite the chilly weather, which made sense since the room had desperately needed airing out.

That someone, Molly realized, was John Watson, who settled into his chair (minus one cushion) and raised his eyebrows in her direction.

"Nice afternoon, then?" He said bemusedly, and Molly blushed to the roots of her hair.

"Ah. John, excellent," Sherlock declared from behind her. "Molly will be staying for tea. I’m thinking a Chinese would be suitable."

John rolled his eyes. “I think that can be arranged, your Highness. I’ll go order, and when I get back we’ll have a chat about boundaries while you let Molly get a shower.” With that he stood and headed up the stairs, winking playfully at Molly as he passed.

"That was…not nearly as awkward as it could have been," Molly murmured, and she felt Sherlock’s lips curl into a smile at the nape of her neck.

"I should have mentioned. John was supposed to join me on the case. He was so cross about doing all that shaving for nothing." Molly turned looked up at him, eyes wide, and there was no mistaking how terribly naughty Sherlock’s expression was at the moment.

Molly suspected that her evening was about to become even more eventful than she had expected. And so she craned her neck to nibble on Sherlock’s lip one more time. After all, she didn’t really need to get into the shower just yet.


End file.
